


Let It Burn to Ashes

by Hamyheikki



Category: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel - Michael Scott
Genre: Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hamyheikki/pseuds/Hamyheikki
Summary: Sometimes, it's the aftermath of the battle that strikes the deepest of wounds.
Relationships: Aoife/Niten | Miyamoto Musashi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Let It Burn to Ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eliaintraining](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliaintraining/gifts).



It was increasingly difficult to keep her hold of the sword, with the slick blood running through her fingers and soaking the hilt’s leather. The blade, shining softly in the moonlight, hadn’t come clean yet. Despite the rain pouring down, the gleaming metal remained red, dripping onto the grass below. 

At least the rain was controlling the fire.

Aoife stepped back, watching as the small village smoldered. Buildings, homes for families and shelters for livestock, all crumpling to ashes under her watch. The smell of burning flesh, smoking hair, clinging to her tongue even when she continued backwards, growing the distance. A pile of smoke surged upwards as one more structure collapsed. It stung in her eyes, and she was forced to throw up a hand to cover her mouth, and stifle a fit of cough. 

The screaming was her undoing in the end. The gasping howls echoing in the night, wet sobs desperate for air. Shrieks of anger as heavy fists hammered against the walls of the burning houses in vain.

Her grip became stronger, tilting the sword down. 

In one, swift move, it was slammed into the damp ground.

She added her screech to the choir.

It couldn’t have lasted more than a minute or two. The air around her was still seething with heat and ash by the time she slumped forward, her weight entirely on the sword. She’d hold on, would scream until the world righted itself! It was the least she could do. Her eyes slipped shut, the wails soaring higher and higher -

“It is time we go.”

She had grown to expect it. The warm, gentle hand had pressed itself down onto her shoulder. It did not pull, merely rested there, a steady presence. An anchor. Made it easier for her to let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Slowly she pushed herself off the ground. Standing a step behind her, Niten snuffed out the last of his burning arrows, slipping the bow back into its place. His eyes were locked on hers, not sparing a glance towards the raging scene unfolding a mere meters away.

“Do you need help moving?”

She did not. There were cuts, yes, but they were insignificant. Mere scrapes, the likes of which she had patched up often enough for it to become a routine. But the sight and the sounds, the cloud of pain thumping in her chest. Those would stay far past the day the cuts had healed. With a sigh, Aoife turned. She let the sword stay, didn’t bother to look when Niten walked over and pulled it from the grass.

“There’s another village 25 miles to the south from here. We can regroup there.” His tone was clipped. Aoife had never needed it to be anything else in times like this. It was an agreement they had made years ago. The time for soft words would come later. When they were out of danger, out of sight.

“Lead the way.”

Together, they turned their backs on the fire and screams. The path they took was slippery with mud and water, but the two barely paid it any mind, hopping over the puddles without slowing down. Side by side, they ran across the field, jumped over a small creek, and dashed into the relative safety of the trees. A chase was unlikely, but it would be unwise to assume. They rushed onward, past the bushes and fallen trunks. It was not a forest, but the leafy branches offered some shelter. 

Enough for Aoife to halt her pace. A new layer of blood tingled onto her tongue as the fangs grazed her lower lip.

“... I _had_ it under control.” It sent a shiver up her spine, the way her nails drilled into the cold flesh of her palms. “I had it, and I _lost_ it!”

Niten hadn’t made it much further. The man turned, one hand still holding the now clean sword. In the heavy rain, it would be a challenge for any mortal to catch, but Aoife saw the brief moment the mask cracked, and grief bled through.

“Village was overrun, infection bored too deep.” Without seemingly realizing it, Niten’s free hand rose to caress the wood of his bow. “We brought an end to it.”

“But I _had_ the source scouted! I could have... I could’ve struck her down before it got out of hand.” 

And just like that, the gentle hold was back. Steady fingers closed around her shoulder, and now they _did_ pull, tugging her to lean against the water-soaken chest. For once, she went willingly, letting her head slump.

“It wouldn’t have changed a thing. She'd spread the spores long before we laid our feet onto this land. The fate of those townsfolk was sealed the moment she first caught it and returned home.”

Information Aoife had already known. But that didn’t make the burn in her heart any easier to bear. If anything, it made it burn brighter, matching the frenzy of the fire they’d left behind.

“Love, look at me.” 

A single, careful finger tapped at her jaw, tilting her head back. She allowed it. The tiny hint of smile, sincere in the midst of the smoke and rain, made her want to crush it. To memorize it fully, to _savor_ it, before vanquishing it for good.

“Have I ever lied to you?”

She surged forward. The bitter taste of copper and ash lingered.

But the kiss, unyielding and yet tender, was received without a flinch.

“No.” Her eyes closed, she leaned in deeper. 

“No, you have not.”


End file.
